Miracle On Baker Street
by Diva In The House
Summary: House/OC.  House has a very odd dream after he passes out from his OD in Merry Little Christmas.  Originally posted for the OC Babes Friday Night Challenge.


**Just a Christmas one-shot that I posted for the OC Babes Friday night challenge. I thought I'd share it with all of you as well. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it.**

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"Greg?" The gentle male voice brought House out of his fog, completely disorienting him. "Come on, hon, wake up."

House was utterly confused. He remembered Wilson slamming the apartment door behind him what seemed like hours before, leaving House alone on his living room floor. What the hell was this stranger doing in his apartment, and how the hell did he get in here in the first place?

He opened his eyes to see the man looking down at him, a concerned expression in his bright green eyes. That concern turned to obvious relief, a slight smile creeping across his face. "Oh, good, you're alive."

"I guess." House slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, warily looking around the room. It still looked like his living room, but different. He could hear someone playing the piano, accompanied by someone else on guitar, a strong female voice singing what sounded like a Christmas song.

If this was a dream, it was easily the most screwed up one House had ever had. He managed to scramble to his feet, his legs strong and sure under him, the fog of the drugs and bourbon completely clear now.

"Okay, I don't know what the hell you people are doing in my apartment, but you can get out now." House announced as soon as the woman at the piano stopped singing.

"Leave?" She looked baffled as she tucked a bit of blonde hair behind her ear. "But we're just getting warmed up."

"Yeah, man." The guitar player chimed in, playing a quick run, his fingers flying over the fretboard. "Party's just starting, brother."

"Party…" House trailed off before shaking his head. "Sorry, you must be haunting the wrong place. There's no party here. No reason to celebrate."

"It's Christmas Eve." A coffee-colored woman emerged from the kitchen, her heels clicking across the floor as she brought out a tray of snacks and set them on the coffee table. "Isn't that reason enough to celebrate?"

House sat down heavily on the leather couch, forearms resting on his knees. "Look, I'm on the verge of losing everything that matters to me. My best friend left me passed out cold on my living room floor. Excuse the hell out of me if I don't feel like celebrating." He stared down at the floor. "You probably would have been better off leaving me there."

The green-eyed man who had initially shaken him awake eased himself onto the couch next to House, gently rubbing him between his shoulder blades. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"The evidence is pretty overwhelming." House answered, even as he relaxed under the other man's touch. "Did you miss the part where my best friend left me?"

"That was wrong of him." The blonde at the piano announced, a touch of anger in her voice. "I can't believe he did that to you. God, anything could have happened to you, and no one would have known it until it was too late."

"Probably would have been better that way." House answered quietly.

"You kidding me, man?" The guitar player threw him an incredulous look before snorting and shaking his head. "Unreal."

"What?" House gave him a sharp look.

The other man huffed irritably. "You've done a hell of a lot, you know that? More than you'll probably ever know."

"Is that right?" House challenged. "Name one thing."

"Let's see." The guitar player frowned thoughtfully. "For one thing, there's a whole lot of people still alive and kicking because of you."

"Oh, right, the diagnostic genius." House snapped sarcastically, rising from the couch to pace around the room. "I hate to tell you, but I can do that with one hand tied behind my back. And by that I mean I can do it while I'm high, while I'm detoxing, while I'm puking my guts out." He snapped his fingers. "All of which, incidentally, I did just this week alone. Doesn't mean shit."

The blonde at the piano pressed her lips together thoughtfully before patting the bench next to her. "Sit."

For some reason, House felt almost compelled to do what he was told, joining the lovely woman at the piano. He almost automatically started playing a few chords before a melody started flowing from his fingers. The woman joined in, her soft alto rising above House's piano, soon accompanied by the man on guitar.

"_Have yourself a merry little Christmas…may your heart be light…from now on our troubles will be out of sight…_"

The song ended, and House closed his eyes against the light applause that followed from the other two people in the room.

"That was beautiful, baby." The other woman exclaimed softly, crossing the room to give House a kiss on top of his head.

The guitarist chuckled, continuing to absentmindedly fiddle around on his guitar. "Sounds like another point in your favor. You're one hell of a piano player. I'm guessing not too many people get to see that side of you."

"Nope." House answered tersely.

"That's a shame, hon." The other man's voice came from behind House, his hands on House's shoulders and rubbing lightly.

House was getting uncomfortable with all the attention being showered on him. "Look, is there some point to all this?"

The dark skinned woman laughed softly. "Of course there's a point, baby."

"Oh, I get it now." House snorted. "It's a cross between 'It's A Wonderful Life' and 'A Christmas Carol'. So which one of you is the angel in search of his wings?" He tilted his head back to the man standing behind him. "I'm guessing it's you."

The man laughed and lightly thumped House on the head. "No angels here, believe me."

"So what's the deal?" House asked. "Who are you people?"

The blonde smiled warmly. "Let's just say we care about what happens to you. If you don't survive this little episode, none of us get to meet you."

"And that means what?"

"That we don't get to know you…"

"Fall for you…"

"Marry you…"

"Have wild hot sex with you."

The conversation stopped dead, all eyes, including House's, stopping to focus on the guitarist, who looked around with a baffled expression. "What, man? You're surprised?"

"A little." House muttered, letting out a short huff. "Okay, a _lot_."

The man behind him laughed, lightly gripping his shoulders. "It would seem you attract all kinds."

"I don't see why." House argued, still processing the idea that any of these people wanted wild, hot sex with him, especially the guys. "I'm just a rude, drug-addicted ass."

"You're so much more than that, baby." The soft voice came from his left.

"Right." House snorted derisively. "I'm also older than dirt, crippled, and, oh yeah, an addict."

The man behind him sighed, letting his hands slide over House's shoulders and crossing his arms over House's chest. "You make yourself sound like such a mess, hon."

"I am." House answered quietly, not sure how to handle the other man's arms around him.

"But that's what makes you interesting." The man responded. "And that's why we need to make sure you survive the night."

"My own best friend obviously wasn't that concerned." House argued back.

"He doesn't know you like we do." The blonde answered back, her arm still wrapped around House's waist.

"Of course, you probably don't let him, either." The man added.

"So it's my fault he left me."

"Nobody said that." The man countered. "The two of you have a very…interesting relationship."

"That's one way to put it." The guitarist snorted.

"Stop that." The coffee-colored woman scolded him before turning back to House, rubbing his arm lightly. "Please forgive him. It's just that we all care so much about you."

"Some of us are a little better at showing it than others." The man's voice behind him took on a scathing tone that didn't go unnoticed by the guitarist, who threw the other man a glare.

"Well, all this caring and sharing is just great." House told them sharply, shifting so that he could disentangle himself from all the arms that insisted on holding on to him. "Too bad it's not real."

A murmur of disappointed agreement went through the assembled group, followed by silence. Finally the guitarist started the opening notes of 'Auld Lang Syne', soon joined by the blonde at the piano. Before long, everyone except House started singing, and House found himself surrounded by an odd warmth that he couldn't explain.

"Just remember that we all love you, baby." A soft voice whispered in House's ear. "No matter what happens after you wake up, we all love you."

"You'll be the only ones." House muttered, cursing himself for the emotion that was starting to build.

Suddenly House jerked awake, his head pounding, his stomach still churning, the dream or hallucination or whatever the fuck it was still fresh in his mind.

"Fuck this." He muttered to himself, slowly pushing himself to his feet, his intentions suddenly crystal clear. If he could believe what those people had told him, he could be better. He could be more than he thought he was, what Wilson and Cuddy and his team thought he was.

He would take the deal. Some time in rehab would be nothing compared to what he had already gone through. Who knows? He might even find a better way to deal with the pain afterwards.

The thought filled him with something he hadn't felt in years. Was it hope? House couldn't say for sure. All he knew was that he had nothing to lose by trying. It was all he could do.

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**Back to you, dear readers. Read and review.**


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